ChanceShaper

By Kathlena L. Contreras

A brutal invader. A peaceful world. And one woman born to stand between them. 

Kara knows only the life of a slave in a Maga mine. But when a disastrous explosion propels her to freedom, she stumbles into a destiny much greater—and just as unwelcome. 

She discovers that she possesses a strange, unpredictable power that can challenge the domination of the Maga invaders, one that makes her an outcast among her own people and a target for the vengeful Maga. 

From the deadly depths of a Maga mine, to a hidden refuge, to the treacherous halls of a Maga Master, Kara leaves behind an unwitting trail of storm and destruction. As she struggles to control her wild power, she'll find out if her determination to stop the hated Maga will defend the world—or destroy it. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flying Tiger Press
• Release date: Oct 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9780615969176

Kathlena L. Contreras

I have a thing for dark lords, dark heroes and antiheroes. I tend to root for villains, because they're usually a lot more interesting than heroes. But they have to be complex, nuanced villains who have good reasons for their villainy. I love variations on the Beauty and the Beast story, awkward courtships and slow-burn romances.  If want to take a look at my other fiction (usually featuring dark wizards), you can find me at FlyingTigerPress.com. I have a Tumbr account I don't know how to use at kathyswizards and one on Facebook I do at Kathlena L. Contreras. Come say hi! Visit flyingtigerpress.com Flying Tiger Press on Pinterest Kathlena L. Contreras on Facebook

Book preview

Prologue

...T he people, no matter where we encounter them on the planet, are utterly passive. If threatened, they run and hide. The men will not fight, but only shield their females and children. If their huts are razed, they simply build again elsewhere. They have no notion, not even words for weapon, for war, for revenge, assassination. A man who kills another is considered mad, gripped by sickness and in need of healing.

Their technology rises no higher than weaving, pottery and basic metal work. Though backward, they learn quickly and are capable of menial work using our technology. They make excellent laborers, as they possess no capacity for rebellion, whether overt or subtle. Once an example is set for runaways, they quietly settle in to their assigned tasks.

They have no real leaders, only elders and witch doctors. These teach that their world is sentient, and that they have a magical connection to it. Of course, all evidence points to the fact that D’ran is no more than any other rocky body enveloped by an atmosphere and favored with a benign climate. If the planet were truly a living being, one would expect it to have mechanisms in place to protect itself. Something like an immune response that generates killer cells to attack an invading threat...

Maga primer on the planet of D’ran

m’rikh-Peren ki Derel, Assessor

Part 1

Ga’h’t

Chapter 1

Kara ran down the tunnels of the mine, in, then out of pools of light that interrupted the blackness. The slap of her sandals on the pourstone floor echoed off the tunnel walls, a counterpoint to the constant rumbling that vibrated the earth itself. Without breaking speed, she rounded a corner—

And ran straight into a Maga.

He grabbed her, slung her into the wall. She hit with a thud and gave a hiss of pain.

"Watch yourself, ga’h’t, he said. His words were heavily accented, difficult to understand. Don’t be in such a hurry that you forget to have respect for a Master."

He towered over her, massive, more than a head taller than any man of her people. She barely came to his breastbone. His eyes were black—all black, with hardly any white. His pale face and hair seemed to glow in the dim light. Like something crawled from under a rock, but no squirming grub or skittering scorpion was as loathsome and hateful as a Maga.

My Master’s expecting me at the picking line right away. Kara’s shoulders and head throbbed where they’d struck the wall, but she showed no expression, and spoke in the neutral tone she was careful—usually—to use with Maga.

He laughed and jerked her away from the wall. Better get down there and be sure nothing else goes wrong with the machinery. Master Heleg might decide you’ll do as a blood sacrifice to turn around the curse on this mine.

Kara ducked his parting slap and ran on, no faster than before.

A grinding sound echoed along the tunnel. A rhythmic screech came, too, the painful noise of metal on metal. Dust and the smell of rock filled the air. Kara coughed. The walls and ceiling jumbled away from one another to make room for the hulking machine whose jaws clamped leechlike in the far wall. The pickers bent over its tail of rollers and belts, pushing and pulling the ore with their hoes. Kara caught up her waterskin, dribbled water over her scarf and tied it over her face.

She paused by the first picker. Dust creased his eyelids. The lines around his dark eyes, where the dust had mixed with sweat then dried, were like cracks in mud. Rock dust coated his clothes and hair, too, so he was all one grey-dun color.

She pulled a pouch from the folds of her wide sash. Here, she shouted over the noise. Pass it along.

The old man opened the bag, peered at the raisins and black walnuts inside. Above the scarf that covered most of his face, his eyes crinkled in a smile.

Kara passed the line of pickers and swung open the ore digester’s access cover. The grinding-metal noise abruptly increased and a smell of burned lubricant wafted out. Wheels and belts and chains whirled inside. A display unfolded in the air, all colored bars and Maga writing. She couldn’t read the writing, but she knew which bar did what. She stroked the air over one. The machinery slowed. She applied lubricant, careful around the parts flashing and gnashing near her hands. The scream of metal dwindled and died. She closed the cover again without readjusting the controls. With luck, it would be a while before the Machine Master realized she hadn’t set the machinery back to full speed.

The woman nearest put down her hoe and pulled the scarf away from her face. The skin underneath was brown, though dust caked her wrinkles.

She ate a handful of nuts and raisins and sipped water. I thank you. She picked up her hoe again. Its blade glowed, and she pulled a lump of ore onto the processing belt. Rock and ore slid past in a ceaseless stream. You’re the Healer’s daughter, aren’t you?

Her name was Kayt, Kara said. Yes. How did people always seem to know?

Can you Heal, as she did? Your mother came to my village, Pine Rock, what was it, twenty, twenty-five years ago? Before the Maga came, anyway. Healed my cousin’s son of the gasping sickness. They say she could Heal anything. She started coughing. Anything...

The woman turned her head and spat phlegm thick with dust and speckled with red.

Kara supported her, struggling with old resentment. I can carry tools. I can tend the machines. I can crawl into an ore digger’s innards and un-jam the bit. She held the woman’s shaking, bony shoulders. But Heal? The word tasted bitter. No.

Someone touched Kara’s shoulder—the woman next on the line. I’m so sorry, she said. It was terrible, just horrible what the Maga did to your mother.

Kara swung around. What do you mean?

The woman pulled back her hand.

She died of a sickness, Kara said. My brother told me.

Your brother is right, the first woman said. The machinery thumped and rattled behind her. She wheezed, then waved Kara away and tugged her scarf back over her face. A sickness did kill her. She gestured around her with a crooked hand. This sickness. The same sickness that’s killing the world.

Kara couldn’t speak for a moment. "The Maga? They killed her? Her voice came out thin and strange. Her pulse pounded in her temples. She wanted to break something, pick up a prybar and batter the machinery into bits. But that would shock and horrify everyone. She clenched her fists to keep from shouting. How? How did it happen?"

All the nearby pickers were looking at her. Now their eyes slid away, back to their hoes.

Child, the second woman said. I beg you. Don’t ask that.

Kara wrestled with fury. They destroy everything! I wish—

She was shaking. She didn’t know what she wished. If only the Maga had never come! If only they’d go away, back to wherever they came from! But they wouldn’t. Not unless something made them leave. Maybe their machines could all break. They didn’t seem to be able to live without them. She glared at the thumping ore-digester, the whining conveyor, the fans that moved the choking haze of dust. Yes. If it would all stop—

The lights flickered, winked once and went out. The conveyor jingled and fell still. Fans wheezed a breath into darkness and silence so sudden and so total, it was like a blow to the head. Kara gripped a corner of metal, staring into the same darkness she’d just imagined. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

Oh, child, one of the women moaned. What did you do?

Nothing! Kara stammered. She had a sudden, awful sense of a pit opening under her feet. I didn’t do anything!

Doesn’t matter, an old man growled. You were working on the machine. They’ll blame it on you, anyway. Get out of here. Get back to your Master and pretend you don’t know a thrice-cursed thing about this. Do like I say! Go!

Kara stumbled through the darkness, blundered into a wall. She felt her way along it, found the mouth of the tunnel and fled, trailing her fingers along the wall.

Ahead, work beams slashed the blackness like blades. Maga voices rumbled with curses and questions, muttered about the mine’s curse. She faltered, but a beam swept across her, swung back, pinned her. She fought the impulse to run.

You Kara? one of the Maga asked.

She’d be smart to say no.

He apparently took her silence to mean ‘yes.’ He seized her arm. "H’nikh’tal Deven want." He used the Maga word for ‘machine master.’

He marched her up the sloping tunnel. Deven wasn’t far. He caught the sleeve of her shirt, as well as some the skin of her upper arm, and shoved her toward a wall.

Look at this!

It seemed to be a power coupling or distribution node, though the jerking light and the condition of the equipment made it hard to tell. Smoke stinking of ozone and burned polymer still curled from pitted, blackened circuitry. Power conduits lay in cracked globs on the floor of the box. Feeble red and white flashes sputtered from some broken power lead.

A chill like a thin, cold trickle of water ran down her spine. What happened?

"I can tell you what didn’t happen. The monitors didn’t register a problem as they should have."

The chill deepened. She pulled free of Deven’s grip. Are you sure? She made her face baffled and innocent. There must’ve been an alarm light.

Ugly laughter surrounded her. Exactly so. Let's go tell that to Master Heleg.

Deven’s hand clamped on her shoulder. The light flashed away from her face. Sudden fear surged. She bucked and struggled.

He slammed her into walls and doorframes, and once or twice lifted her off her feet by the back of her shirt. She was bruised and breathless at the end of the long climb out of the mining complex to Master Heleg's office.

The Complex Master's office overlooked the mine from a hillside above. That view always made Kara sick: the stripped soil, the ground-breakers crawling over torn earth like enormous beetles, the fringe of sickly, dusty oaks and manzanita. Right now, she felt sicker than usual.

Heleg paced behind his desk. A yellow jewel winked on a cuff around his wrist, the only color in his dull grey clothing. His hair, white like every other Maga’s, swung heavy to his shoulders with beads of metal and clear glass—one for every enemy he killed, he’d bragged. The beads clicked and hissed when he moved, the whispers of dead souls.

He turned. His black, pupil-less gaze fell on her. Like a shark’s eyes, someone had once said.

A slow, pleased smile spread across his face. Kara’s hatred boiled up, distilled, refined over the years.

Deven spoke in his own language. Kara always pretended she didn’t understand, but his time, she wished she really didn’t. It was like the old man had said it would be—all her fault. Numb clamminess crawled across her skin.

Heleg lowered himself into a chair and folded his hands on his desk, a slab of oak cut from a tree that must’ve been hundreds of years old when it was murdered. A cougar’s skull sat on one corner. Styluses poked out of the eye sockets and a data orb rested between its fangs.

A smell came from Heleg, sharp and musky, like an animal. A vicious, aggressive animal. Kara held herself still, kept her face smooth, her hands open.

Kara, Master Deven has been explaining the cause of the power failure, he began. He says there appears to have been a malfunction in the power nexus for the lower levels.

Yes. It was melted. She concentrated on her breathing. Slow. In, then out.

Heleg nodded thoughtfully. Master Deven also says you were working in the area.

The machine master’s grin was predatory, showing the points of his canines, the sharp notches on his front teeth.

A quiver started in her middle, half queasy expectation, half rage. I was, but down at the picking line.

Yet you already seemed certain there was a problem. ‘There must’ve been an alarm light.’ Those were your words, weren’t they? I'd hate to think that Master Deven would fabricate something to avoid blame.

Deven chuckled. Heleg flicked him a look and he quieted.

I said that, but it wasn't like that at all. I said that because he—

I’m glad you D’ran-ikh are such honest people. Heleg showed the points of his own canines and stood. It makes discipline so much simpler when the wrongdoer accepts blame and submits to punishment.

Kara’s heart slammed and breath came short. Submit! she choked. She stabbed a finger at the machine master. So now you bring me up here to take your punishment, because you’re too much of a coward—

Deven snarled and struck her. Pain exploded in the side of her head. The taste of blood welled into her mouth. She staggered across the bear’s skin that lay on the floor, under the tread of Maga boots.

Too much of a coward, she repeated through clenched teeth, to face him yourself.

She rounded on Heleg. He loomed over her, a mass of muscle and bone and pale flesh, head cocked to one side and smiling a smile that was all sharp teeth. She wanted to...to...to do what he’d done to her so many times. To hurt him.

Her fists knotted. Well, I won’t take his beating for him!

Heleg's hands came down on her shoulders, buckling her knees. I knew I could depend on you for another interesting exchange.

He lifted one hand from her shoulder, clamped the other tighter—

She brought the heel of one hand up hard, as hard as she could in close quarters, ripped cloth and flesh out of his hold. Someone grabbed her. She spun, sheer fire, blind and unthinking fury.

Suddenly, she couldn’t move. Her arm was twisted agonizingly behind her. An arm—Deven’s?—locked around her neck. The fever-heat of a Maga body seeped through the back of her shirt. Heleg’s hand crumpled the fabric of her collar. He wiped blood from his nose and from a cut in his lip that hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

Very good, he panted, glancing at the blood on the back of his hand. "Very good. No downcast eyes, eh? No enduring in silence, not you, no. Now you're scarcely D’ran-ikh at all. See, Deven, she's more h’ckt-tal, valued enemy, than ta-puth. But we’ll have to take some of that out of her, else the rest of them might think they can get away with it. Now, Kara, my h’ckt-tal, how many years have I spent trying to convince you of your place? Seven, or is it eight now?"

Eight, she thought. Not long after Heleg killed old Master Gren, Heleg had laid hands on Nali, her brother’s wife. And Kara, then a small, slight girl of twelve summers, had thrown herself on him and scratched and bitten him bloody. That had been her first beating.

He shook his head with mock regret. Since you were little more than a child. I’ve made every effort to educate you, but I doubt my success. What do you think? Have I made progress?

Depends, Kara said, shaking so hard she had to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering, on what you wanted to teach me.

Heleg nodded. That it does. I might have to adjust my methods. He paused to catch his breath and swipe away another trickle of blood. I’m going to reassign you for a time, he said. How does the sorting line sound to you?

She swallowed a queasy knot of terror, but refused to let it show.

I understand your people have stories about it, about the ‘wither crystals’ there. Such an explicit, appropriate term. He shook his head sadly. It’s an inconvenient necessity, having to continually replace sorters. Your energy will be useful there. He smiled. I’ll review you from time to time, of course, and see how you do.

He nodded at Deven. Let her go.

Deven abruptly released her. She stumbled, caught herself and tottered to where she could watch them both. Deven looked sullen, cheated of something. Heleg's amused gaze slid from him to Kara. The amusement faded.

He gave a sharp nod. I’ll tell the overseer to expect you tomorrow.

The taste of metal filled her mouth, sickening her. She got her hands up, pushed her hair back from her face and turned, pretending the world hadn’t crashed down around her.

Chapter 2

Kara wasn’t sure she’d make it home. In sunset’s low, orange light, she limped across the mine’s sterile fringes toward the village—or what remained of Oak Hills village. She smelled it before she saw it, the stink of human waste and unburied garbage. Dogs that looked like tents of fur slung across bones sniffed and pawed at a midden pile.

The first of the ramshackle houses appeared, most of the plaster crumbled from the poles and stones, the roof shingles splintered and curled. A child, dressed only in a tattered shirt that hung to the knees, stood by the door. Flies buzzed around the child’s face, and her arms and legs were like brown, dirty sticks. A woman, almost as thin, poured water from a pot onto a straggling patch of corn and squash. A boy, filthy and exhausted after his shift in the mine, tended an outdoor hearth. A smell of burning potatoes surrounded it. Other people lay on the ground around the houses, like so many dolls with the stuffing coming out. In the summertime, the mine workers slept outside, rather than crowd inside the sagging houses.

Kara had to stop and lean on a post. Every part of her throbbed. Her mouth tasted of blood. Each breath stabbed like Heleg was hitting her again. It was on her tongue to ask for help. But how could she, after everything the Maga demanded—everything they took? She clenched a futile fist. The post cracked and tilted under her, probably rotten in the ground. She dragged herself upright and stumbled on, her shadow stretching long ahead of her.

The house Kara’s father had built, the house she lived in with her brother and his family, nestled at the foot of a hill in the heart of its plum and cherry and walnut orchards. The Maga needed somebody to grow the food they ate. So Kara’s family was mostly left alone to do that. Kara would’ve been tending the orchards and gardens with the rest of her family if she hadn’t attacked Heleg eight years ago.

Holding herself against the pain, she staggered up to the garden gate in deepening twilight. She sagged against the wall. It hadn’t fallen down like the ones in the village. If it did, the deer and rabbits would eat everything. And then Heleg would decide that Kalen and Nali and Nathe and Nathlie might be more useful in the mine.

Her nephew and niece sang an old song while weeding the garden, their two round, brown faces and busy hands intent on their work. Green-tailed missiles flew in time to the words.

Life is the world, Nathe sang in his high, clear voice.

The world is life, Nathlie replied, not quite in tune.

Its bones the mountains, waters its blood,

Wind for breath and thunder for voice,

Fly, swim, run, creep, all the creatures its beating heart.

The Black Beast is its soul.

The world sees through our eyes.

We see the world’s patterns.

Hears through our ears.

We hear the world’s voice.

We dance the world’s motion, feel the world’s peace.

The world is life,

Life is the world,

The world’s soul is peace.

They traded the lines, and sang the line about the Black Beast together off-key.

Nali, her brother’s wife, called to them, her voice carrying over the clear, still air. You two had better watch what you’re pulling from the ground, else there won’t be enough for us after the Masters get theirs.

Oh, Mama, they replied in unison, a well-practiced refrain.

The beans are big now, said Nathe, Kara's nephew. We can tell they’re not weeds.

Nali nodded, a slender silhouette against the light spilling through the door. Just be careful.

It was hard to move, but Kara pushed away from the wall and dragged into the yard. The children fell still, their eyes wide and dark.

Nali, could you help me? Kara hugged herself and snatched short breaths through her teeth.

What is it? Nali quickly came down the worn stone of the porch step, through the garden. What’s happened?

Kara gave a short grunt in place of laughter. Oh, I've had a tangle with Master Heleg. She spoke the title with deep sarcasm.

Oh, Kara! Nali slid a careful arm around her. Not again!

Kara concentrated on staying on her feet. They went straight through the kitchen to the workroom in the back. Bunches of tied herbs adorned the low ceiling, links of venison sausages festooned the rafters, little pots of jams and dried fruit and bags of nut meats ornamented shelves and deep windowsills. Most would go to Maga tables. The healing herbs, the ones her mother had tended, mostly grew wild now. No one had time for them.

Nali released her long enough to overturn an empty tub. Kara dropped onto it. The staves creaked only a little under her.

Nali narrowed her eyes, tucked a lock of glossy black hair behind one ear, suddenly all business. Right. I want that vest and shirt off. Do you think you can manage it?

Kara fumbled at her sash and shrugged out of her long vest. Both were dull homespun, much patched. She remembered the bright colors in her clothes when she was little—green, mustard yellow, madder red. Those had worn out long ago, though.

Nali reached behind her for a length of twine, gently gathered Kara’s cloud of dark hair and tied it back. Kara struggled with the shirt, one arm in, one out.

Wait, sit still for a minute. There. She slipped the shirt over Kara's head with the smooth practice of a woman with two young children. Nali moved the tallow lamp, adjusted the wick, then prodded an ugly lump on Kara’s ribcage. Kara clamped her teeth on a yelp.

Most likely a cracked rib, Nali said. I’ll bind it up. I’m afraid your face is going to look like a squashed plum for a while. I can’t do much with the bruises other than give you willow bark tea for the pain and try to bring down the swelling with cool yarrow compresses. She took Kara’s head, turned it one way, then the other. Hurt? Dizzy? How about your stomach? Is it queasy?

"Hurt? Ask me where it doesn’t hurt. My stomach is sick ever since you jabbed that rib. It’s sore, too. I don’t even remember getting hit there. Just them grabbing hold of me, and me fighting back."

Nali’s hands stilled. You fought?

I— Kara began, then closed her mouth. Nali silently helped Kara back into her shirt. Kara sighed. Never mind. I don’t want to argue with you. Especially not you, Nali. I don’t think even Kalen would have tended me as many times as you have.

Nali smiled thinly. Well, he probably would, but not as quietly as I do. She dabbed at a cut on Kara’s cheekbone. If you fought, you know he’ll have something to say this time.

But why? They were beating me! And I didn’t even do anything this time.

Why couldn’t anyone understand? Why was she so different? Sometimes she felt like...like...a coyote raised among deer.

Nali? a man’s voice called.

Kara stiffened.

Nali knelt down, grasped her forearms. Just remember, he only gets angry because he can’t do anything to help you. She turned her head and called back, Here, Kalen, in the workroom.

In the other room, the front door clumped closed. The children said Kara is here. Kalen’s voice came closer. It’s early. Is everything all right?

Kara’s brother appeared in the doorway, tall, lanky as a youth, his dark hair, as usual, a little mussed. His eyes fell on her and the smile on his brown face withered. His brows seesawed back and forth between concern and anger. Finally they went down and stayed down.

Kara rubbed her eyes. Kalen, don’t yell at me. I hurt and I’m tired and I’ve been terrorized enough for one day.

He stood, arms folded, frowning. "I didn’t think I terrorized you."

Nali patted Kara’s arm. You both might as well come out into the kitchen and be comfortable.

Her brother stepped into the workroom, helped Kara up and out and settled her in a kitchen chair. The children peeked in.

Nali scooped up a pot and handed it to Nathe. Take your sister down to the stream. Wash off that dirt. Fetch water, and tulies for the floor, while you’re there.

The faces disappeared from the doorway. A moment later, the front door thumped closed again.

Kalen’s frown didn’t disappear. What did you do this time? he asked Kara.

Who says I did anything? she said. The Maga don’t need a reason to beat people.

You usually give them a reason. What’s wrong with you? Do you enjoy it?

More than I enjoy being a slavey, she shot back. She used the Maga word, ga’h’t. Her language had no such word.

Oh, Kara, Nali said in disgust.

Kalen raked his hair back. Listen to me, little sister. He took her hands.

She pressed her lips together and turned away. It won’t change anything.

No, listen, he said again. If you’d just be quiet, do what the Maga tell you, it wouldn’t be so bad. They already don’t have enough people to do the work. They’ve emptied all the villages nearby. Any new workers will have to come from some other Master’s territory. Heleg will have to either pay or raid to get them.

And if I’m a good little slavey, how long do you think I’ll survive? Kara said. Until I get caught in a cave-in? ’Til the ore crusher mangles me? Or maybe I’ll last until I start spitting blood and rock dust.

But Kara, Nali said. What else can any of us do?

Kara gripped her brother’s hand and leaned forward. "Fight them."

Kalen broke from her grasp. Fight! How? By tearing myself out of the world?

Look around you, Kalen, Kara said. Look at the mine. Look at what the Maga have done to the land. Look at the animals they kill and leave to rot. At what they do to our people—murder, torture, rape. More Maga words. At what they did to our parents.

Kalen started, shot Nali a brief, appalled look.

Yes, Kara said. I found out. I didn’t find out why they died, though. Did Mama and Papa try to stop the Maga from the things they do to people? Did they try to take the villagers away? Or maybe—

Stop. Kalen covered his face. Just stop.

Nali took him by the shoulders. She gave Kara a small shake of the head, then bent to press her cheek to his hair. Kara wrapped her arms around herself and hunched in her chair.

I was just a boy, he said. "They killed everyone. Mama, Papa, our Weaver, all the elders. All I could do was try to keep you, keep us, safe."

That’s all I want to do, Kalen. The world won’t do it. It’s forgotten us. Or maybe the Maga have killed it with their digging and destroying.

He rocked back in the circle of Nali’s arms. How can you say that? Isn’t the world a part of you? You’re a Healer’s daughter, Kara! If you don’t feel the world’s peace, what do you feel?

Outrage, she said quietly. Outrage—and rage.

He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. You talk like a Maga.

She choked on a single, humorless laugh. So said Master Heleg, and now so says my own brother.

I didn’t mean—

It doesn’t matter. She stood, wincing. I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough fighting for one day. Though you may not believe it.

He caught her wrist. Kara... He shook his head and let go. I’m sorry. I—shouldn’t have said that. I only wish you’d realize where the path you’re on is leading. You’re playing a dangerous game with Master Heleg. You’ve lived as long as you have because you amuse him. What will you do when he tires of you?

She leaned against the door frame, thinking of what awaited her tomorrow. Only tomorrow, though, because she didn’t want to think of the days after that. I don’t know, but I can’t just give up. That would kill me even quicker.

Silence hung at her back as she heaved herself up the ladder to her attic room.

The shift change siren blew. The big metal doors to the sorting chamber groaned open and the Maga maintenance crew came out, laughing and talking in their blunt language as they stripped off their protective gear. The workers of Kara’s people waited, slumped against the walls, all thin, all seemingly transparent and old, though none had the white hair of the old.

One of the Maga stopped in front of her, making a show of looking her up and down. Kara gritted her teeth and stared ahead. He called over his crew. They ranged around her, still talking and laughing, close enough to have gone beyond rude to threatening.

Heh, you new whor-kher, the Maga said, his accent heavy on the consonants. He grinned and prodded her shoulder, then her arm. Stron-gh. Lon-gh time whork. He turned to his fellows and said in his own language, She’s already skinny. Won’t be anything worth poking in a few tendays.

She’s probably too small to get your poker into, anyway. Oh, I forgot. That ain’t a problem for you.

At least I got one. Not just a shriveled little worm.

Heard tell she’s the Master’s special, another said. You wanna keep your poker, better find another hole.

"I’d give a hundred of these little brown ones for a real female. Our females know how to welcome a man."

That brought increasingly colorful talk and some crude pantomiming.

Kara clenched her fists and glared past them. This type she knew: overgrown adolescent males, lacking Heleg’s creative malevolence. Fortunately. But they weren’t an empty threat, either. Plenty of women could tell you that.

Her people were shuffling through the doors. Kara turned sideways, slipped between the crowding Maga and followed.

A large, echoing space opened before her. The air smelled oddly sterile, a smell that made the back of her neck creep. An empty conveyor ran from the wall and across the center of the space. Strangely, it was shielded. Why? And what would haze and yellow the polymer like that?

The door clanged shut behind them. Kara jumped. People—her coworkers, she reminded herself—stepped up to the shield and slipped their hands and arms through holes cut into it, into some